A Reprieve of Sorts
by HollowedSorrow
Summary: There are repercussions when you tempt Fate. But should It decide to tempt you? Fair game. Absolutely fair.
1. You're Not Nice But Neither am I

**AN:** When I say Harry is not fond of Fate, I'm not entirely wrong.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing, no one but, perhaps, the circumstances that happens in this story.

* * *

His world ended.

The great Earth devouring itself into nothingness and no matter what pleading and begging the creatures of the Earth were to be no more.

And then they weren't.

Not even a speckle or mote was left.

Well, not only that.

The Earth wasn't the only thing that ceased to be.

The entire bits of reality and their known universe crumbled along with it.

No living being was spared.

Surprisingly, it wasn't really anyone's fault.

The fact of the matter was that: reality simply reached its expiry date.

He… had nothing more of his beginning.

Harry frowned. Admittedly it has been a while since he visited his Earth.

None can blame him though, there was no one left he could visit. He's buried his family and friends. Some of his allies too, from when Hermione decided it was time for them to put their foot down and twist the Ministry's ears like the unruly child it acted as.

Once he had a taste of travel, he was consumed by a kind of wanderlust which made it hard for him to help his friends with their cause. But, they were very understanding and well, they all still had personal lives so really storming the Ministry was just their side project. But then Time had crept up to them and had no qualms smashing Age over them ( _meanwhile, they refuse to touch him whatsoever_ ).

He still comes back from time to time to visit and care for the graves.

But this death…

This wide and encompassing death…

He was in a mockery of an embrace, none of his limbs would listen, and on his knees, he saw it all.

Fate is more than willing to clamp its cold and bony hands on his jaw and physically twist and force him to watch as the world that gave birth to his all and sorrows shatter itself.

It was deafening.

It was beautiful as it was heartbreaking.

Nonetheless, the death of what he once knew was… staggering.

It was… it hurt. He was crying and it astonished him. _Slowly_ mobility seeped back to his limbs, he let his hand feel the slow, steady, fat dribbles of tears slipping down his cheeks and frowned.

The grip of Fate had on his jaw had yet to lessen, he could feel the sharp bite of its claws digging into the flesh of his poor jaw. The promise of something painful to happen were what those sharp pinpricks meant.

He frowned some more.

He didn't like it, the vile thing. The _audacity_ of it. The arrogance, thinking it can always make him do as it pleased.

His patience was thinning.

Ever so slowly, he forced his hand up and clamped down on the offending appendage that dared touch him.

* * *

His world has ended.

It went out roaring. Its final tantrum as it fell apart, mixing the sounds of ground crumbling, buildings crashing and all sorts of living beings gave it latest struggle. Crying out in rage, fear and despair. In indignity.

And amidst the last symphonic roar of what was once his world, an additional scream, high and just do grating, joined in before falling flat, failing when the rest of the deathly performance was only reaching its peak.

* * *

"… _.Harry."_

"…"

" _I thought you were too old for this?"_

"…"

" _Please do not ignore me."_

"…"

" _Please do not look at me like that."_

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"… _fine. I never can stay mad at you. But please? No more frowning."_

"…"

* * *

 **AN:** Just a short prologue as I try and get the rest of the story down. Technically, this little thing is a rewrite of a previous story/chapter I posted. It has more plot now, which is why it's so difficult to write down because dialogues are not my forte, but this requires a lot of speaking not just some sort of introspection I usually do, so for now enjoy.

 **AN:** Is this connected to 'It's a Relative Thing'? In a way, it is. Not exactly a prequel. More of something that happened before it.


	2. Ah, The Crows

**AN:** I wanted this posted the same time as the third chapter of 'It's a Relative Thing' but I'm not done with it yet. It's like 90% finished. Problem is, the last scenes refuse to be short, so as I type this, chapter 3 currently has 6.5k+ and it's not finished at all. So, I decided to post this instead.

Hopefully, I can finish it sometime this week?

* * *

Nicholas is a lot of things. A husband, a father, a scholar, a teacher, a wizard… an alchemist.

But he is still a man. A very old man.

One that still has a healthy fear of dying.

The Earth and the people in it still have potential. And it'd be a shame to be unable to witness such a thing. He has a thing for knowledge. His wife's shares his sentiments, part of why he fell for her.

So he made a stone, the Philosopher's stone ( _his wife helped, of course. Even if it still made their skin crawl whenever they remember the lengths in which they took to complete the set, but—it's getting easier to shrug the sensation off_ ).

He's also a very selfish old man so he has no qualms in admitting that, some ways, he was a coward and had a really hard time letting go of things.

So after the little mishap with Albus in '91 and a lot of bluffing regarding the stone and their incoming 'deaths', he and his lovely missus decided to go through with their world hopping plan. Or rather reality hopping plan, they've already seen most of what the Earth has to offer.

They had the schematics for the ritual and spells they needed to move to another Earth, one that didn't have a meddling Albus, hopefully.

 _Seeing_ as they _only_ had a theory to work with. They could find no text or account that says otherwise, so they were more or less playing it by ear at that point.

It worked in the end, he was only mildly singed. It also took a couple of months. They took advantage of the fact and sequestered themselves away from people. More so than their usual.

The thing about the new reality Pen and him find themselves in, however, _is_ that there's nothing like their old one.

Same sky maybe. Same predictability humanity falls into, wars, famine and the like. In a way, it has left him disappointed. It looked the same, felt the same. Even the air tasted the same.

But it wasn't an exact copy of his home.

One of the most glaring difference is the lack of magical governments. Or at least ones that were organized on national scales. People here, instead, flocked unto small communities and hidden enclaves.

There was also the lack of the Statute of Secrecy.

Here, it was more of an unspoken rule than an actual statute. ( _There was also a distinct lack of house-elves, apparently, the elves of this world showed themselves out a lot earlier than the ones at their original Earth. As a result, the incident that gave birth to the house-elf subspecies never came to pass._ )

They might have run a little wild with that revelation.

Nothing irreparable.

They were starting over ( _and they were a little vain with their new start and had no qualms knocking back their own respective shot of a variation of their usual concoction that allowed them to shed some years because, again, vanity)_ they were allowed to have a little fun.

But in the end, before they went really all out, they were able to remember the need for a more legal establishment of their identities and name.

It wasn't that hard of a task. No real Ministries of Magic or other form government meant they had little to no guilt over their little forgeries ( _they were too old for those kinds of sentiments_ ).

There was also the matter of someone, ( _it was definitely Pen_ ), not taking into account when they would be arriving. Or where for that matter.

As a result, well.

He ended up meeting Albus again. He, at that time, was messing with some people so he could be recognized as a professor or something, he was bored.

As he was leaving he quite literally ran into Albus. And well. Nicholas has come to found that even without magic Albus was beyond a conniving bastard.

He was lucky that Albus' scheming was rarely directed at him.

Didn't make him feel sorry for the poor fool that was the subject of said scheming.

Though he was more than a little gleeful to lend a hand to the man when asked.

But the fact of the matter was, careless with the details or not, they were able to establish themselves into society with a rather sizable and mostly legal in origin fortune.

Unfortunately, even with years together, he still had some things to learn, most especially when dealing with his wife.

Speaking of, **" _Nicholas what did yOU DO!?_ "**

 _Ah._ The missus was aggravated. Like the way, she slammed the door of his study open wasn't enough of a clue. Or her livid face. Or the foreboding, crackling light she's gathered on her palms. She'd probably use it on him since he's just staring at her from his desk instead of answering. Rage never could erase Perenelle's beauty ( _age, for that matter, only ever helped her exude wisdom_ ), though it would probably end with him in pain if he didn't answer soon.

Decisions.

Admiration or pacification?

Well.

He was a hopeless old man in love.

But.

"I'm not sure I follow dear?" He really didn't. He was minding his business. Albus hadn't even visited yet. He was in their, admittedly lavish, home; doing perfectly legal things. Perfectly legal non-magic things.

Wrong answer, if going by the visible twitching eyebrow. She dismissed the sparking ball of light but stalked towards him. Outwardly he was a picture of calm, inwardly well, this type of situation was hardly uncommon between them, the years prior to their move included, there was a chance he was _swooning_.

"Then," she growled as she leaned down to his personal space, simultaneously slapping down an envelope on his desk as well, "kindly explain _this_!"

His eyes followed her hand when she slapped it down his desk, not exactly disregarding his wife but rather focusing his attention on the letter now creased and he knew that was where the missus would want his focus on.

Huh.

It looked like a perfectly normal envelope. A bit fancy but nothing he wasn't used to ( _he likes fancy things_ ).

Well, no use in willfully drowning himself in suspense. He reached for his letter opener, his needlessly ornate letter opener but one he loves so dear as it was Pen's gift.

"Why," he blinked, "it's a dinner invitation."

"Oh yes, a dinner invitation! How grand! I suppose I should go ahead and but that dress I saw the other day at—mY GODS NICHOLAS, WHAT DID YOU DO!" The missus started all sweetly sarcastic before her irritation won through again.

Best get the missus calm before she pulls a muscle with all the gesturing she does when she really gets into it ( _it has happened before_ ).

"Now darling," he said moving to her and taking her hands in his ( _he got a dirty look in turn because the missus was not dense but she also gave a slight nod in thanks, not snatching her hands back just yet_ ), "it's just dinner."

"Then _why_ ," Pen's words were still heated but she was calmer, "was it delivered by a crow?"

"A crow?"

"Yes, a crow." She was giving him a look again. One that says he's being annoyingly slow.

"Well, it's just a crow darling. It hardly means a thing."

Still shooting that look at him, the missus continued, "After the crow dropped the letter it went flying to a nearby tree where five other crows were waiting, Nicholas."

"Ah."

"Yes _ah_."

"There are six of them?"

"Yes."

"Six crows?"

"Six crows."

"That's not good."

"It isn't," Perenelle said flatly, she looked at their joined hands and moved closer to her husband, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Well," he says, reaching up to tuck Pen's hair behind her ear, "that just means we have to go, doesn't it?"

Perenelle sighed, eyes closed and refusing to move away from her husband as much as she wants to twist his arm, "I suppose we should."

* * *

 **AN:** Nothing happening much, I suppose. But slow pace is slow. My main focus is 'It's a Relative Thing' so, expect maybe fewer updates happening or at least shorter chapters compared to **IaRT.**

 **AN:** Just a heads up, I don't have a beta or anything so, mistakes are all mine and if you could please point out any lapses I've missed, it will be appreciated. And please feel free to ask questions.


	3. Potters Makes for Great Distractions

**AN:** Refer to chapter title. Also, story-wise, this is set around 2010 because that's the where I first set it and it still works, so.

 **AN:** Also, because I mentioned crows last chapter, there are some superstitions about crows mainly: _"Seeing a single crow is very unlucky. Two crows mean good luck! Three means health, Four means wealth, Five is sickness and Six mean death!"_

So I thought I'd incorporate them in because, in my originals notes, the crows were already included in the story.

* * *

It's a mess on how to start.

But—

The Potters were a well off family, have been for years. All thanks to a great-grandfather, or something along those lines, that was in the right place at the right time.

Mostly, it was because said ancestor was minding his own business, walking down the street, passing by a bistro where what looked like a heated argument was taking place, something about boats, locomotives, and stocks, among other things.

 _Anyway_ , one of the men grabbed him as he passed by and said he looked like a smart man, one up for a challenge after which he was asked if he _was_ up for a challenge and well, said ancestor agreed because he had nothing better to do and they shook on it then and there and were partners. The rest was history.

Only it just wasn't that.

Harry James Potter was a descendant of that Potter who went ahead and ran with some stranger who propositioned him, and both of them gaining success and a fortune when he did. It also resulted to the eventual move of his ancestors from somewhere in England to the United States of America.

He was indifferent to the fact, if only because, well, he grew up _here_ and not _there_ and that was how his family history went. He couldn't change nor was he sure that he would want to do so if he were ever given the chance to go back in time.

But the point of the matter was not only the Potter who went ahead and ran away with a mad idea, it was also the Gaunt who gave that Potter the chance to run away with the idea in the first place.

Thanks to that spontaneous offer of that old Gaunt and the equally spontaneous acceptance of the old Potter, both families, even decades later, were well off. Theirs was not only a partnership that was pure business, soon enough both families were close. Though despite the closeness of both families, they have never directly married into the other family.

That, the easy camaraderie between the families, the wealth, and social standing were the constants in both families.

The relevance of such family alliance that has lasted for generations?

Well, the family alliance was the reason why Tom lived with them now, instead of any other 'well-meaning' relative.

They were related as well, through his dad and both of Tom's parents. It was a bit complicated, in that his dad was related to both of Tom's parents but Tom's parents were not related to each other. From what he understands, on his, ah, aunt for brevity's sake; his aunt was the Gaunt in the relationship and his uncle, again for brevity's sake, was the Riddle.

They're both dead, as much as it seems insensitive to be blunt but it has been years. Point is, while his uncle was an only child; his father, Tom's paternal grandfather, was not; and Harry's not entirely sure how many siblings that man has but he _knows_ that aside from Tom's father they all really never leave England.

Add the fact that his aunt has an older brother who may or may not be disowned due to reasons the adults have never really disclosed to them, only that it left his aunt as the one to inherit everything instead of the older brother who was still very much alive and lives in a very dubious life and keeps company that were twice as dubious ( _impulsiveness never did stop being a family trait for the Gaunts, only that Tom's uncle took this impulsiveness to a wrong direction_ ).

And, well, yes, well, there _would_ have been a horrible custody battle because they left Tom everything.

And Harry meant _everything_. And sure it was not as vast as, say the Black's fortune but it was nothing to sneeze at. And people are greedy even when they're family and Tom never really knew that side of the family, for obvious reasons with his maternal uncle and indifference on his paternal side.

It would have taken years to resolve and definitely not something he'd want his cousin to experience, his status of being the younger cousin be damned.

Except.

Except his aunt and uncle were no fools, as much as people thought his aunt foolish. Well, she was in some ways foolish but never a fool.

The point is they used every trick they knew so that Tom ended in his family's care.

The point was there was a lot of things about their families they don't know and would rather not talk about.

The point is sometimes the reasons were irrelevant, only that he was glad of the outcome. That his cousin, who's title of cousin is a bit complicated as mentioned earlier, was with them. That he grew up with Harry.

So, even with all the compilations and difficulties that have come and will come into their lives, he's thankful for that old Gaunt who was too proud and the old Potter who had nothing better to do.

Because, as sappy as it was and maybe Tom would laugh in his face if he ever knew, Tom was family and he's part of the family and Harry? He loves his family.

Mad cousin included.

* * *

Though there were some days he cursed said cousin, though.

"Wake up."

It's a feeling Harry usually feels whenever the other was being unreasonable, in his opinion. Tom would like to beg to differ but he's asleep at the moment and Harry is probably a step away from grabbing a basin his mom hides under the bathroom cupboard, filling it with water and dump it all over said sleeping cousin.

"Tom. Wake up"

The one who told Harry that he needs to be awake by five in the morning. It's already around four-thirty something when he was unwillingly dragged back to the waking world. Harry has this talent see, totally weird and he's still on the fence it's completely useless or not. But the thing was, sometimes when somebody ( _and usually it was his family because they were really the only ones that knew_ ) mentions they have to be awake at a certain time, usually when it was early in the morning, _Harry,_ for some reason, will wake an hour exactly before the time mentioned. No one knows why? He's not sure if he wants an explanation. It's just something, a talent he guesses, he could do since he was a child.

"I cannot. _-huff-_ _Tom_."

The downside to was, waking up that way tends to leave Harry in a horrible mood for a couple of hours and repeated offense of using Harry this way had consequences. His father knows firsthand when he had Harry wake him up for a week straight at four in the morning when Harry was just six or seven years old.

Six or seven year old Harry was so fed up with waking up at four in the morning for six days straight that in his cranky little six or seven year old mind ( _inevitably dragging an equally irritated nine year old Tom because Harry had no grace left after waking up irritated over and over again and they were bunking together at the time_ ) it was a perfectly reasonable response to jump on his parents' bed land feet first on his father's stomach.

James had yowled like a cat that had its tail stepped on.

Lily was unsympathetic, for obvious reasons. His father couldn't get angry, though, not in the face of his irate son with cheeks puffed out in irritation ( _his Uncle Sirius had wanted to try as well but was discouraged by three sharp looks sent in his direction_ ). But he never tried having Harry wake him up for more than two days in a row. In fact, almost no one tries to push for more than that.

But today was the third day Tom's asked Harry to wake him up ( _but which he wouldn't mind because Tom makes sure that Harry gets compensated, be it extra lunch or a solid alibi whenever he's avoiding someone because Harry felt like it and also because, again, usually it wasn't that hard to wake Tom up_ ), and it wouldn't be too bad if Harry could fall asleep at times like this. But he can't. Which is a shame but he loves his family, though. And Tom's part of his, so that applies him as well ( _usually_ ).

It still didn't curb the urge to pour freezing water over his slumbering cousin. It didn't help, for all that Tom tried to be the perfect role model other students could look up to and, well, Tom was a lot of things but a morning person. Not really.

Someone wants Tom to be bright and cheery by six a.m.? _Good luck_ , they'll need it. Someone would have better luck convincing the Headmaster at their school to cancel classes for the week. And that has actually happened ( _hint: it wasn't either of them that convinced their Headmaster, though originally it was that came up in a conversation during lunch time_ ).

' _Though come to think of it,'_ nose scrunching just a bit, Harry still stuck deciding how to wake up his cousin because shaking him awake was completely ineffective, _'Tom isn't a bright and cheery person at all. Seemingly polite and reserved, yes. Bright and cheery, though...'_

It was something he had yet to witness.

Shuddering at the thought even, Harry wasn't sure it was something he'd want to be around to witness.

* * *

The weight of a stare on his back was what slowly coaxed him out of sleep.

At first, he had no idea what woke him. He was surrounded by warmth and his head was cushioned by something really soft, which was normal because that was how he preferred it ( _and loathe it as he might, he does tend to steal an additional blanket and three pillows from the cupboard where his aunt keeps them_ ). Now _usually_ , alertness was something that only came to him after he was almost finished with his second cup of coffee ( _as was his normal ever since Lily finally stopped tutting whenever they tried making a move towards the coffee machine_ ), so being forced into such a state where he needs to be alert immediately left him, well, not disoriented but definitely irate.

Though that is to say he didn't necessarily freeze. Well, perhaps he did but the way he had tensed was not too obvious.

He was apprehensive.

Understandable, seeing as he feels another presence in his room. And the implications of such were, well, disturbing.

The news has been raging about a serial home invader on the loose, one that had killed someone at the most recent house they've been looting. From what he could remember, the man was nowhere near their neighborhood. Though given that the last news he had heard about said robber was the development of there now being a charge of murder in his, admittedly, unknown name.

A murder that was reported to be very grisly.

Forcing his body to go lax and trying to keep his breathing still that steady deep rhythm one falls into when unconscious and still dreaming, he slowly shifted from laying on his side to flat on his back. Not that it would really help, but if gets stabbed, he'd rather not be stabbed on the back.

He was in an internal impasse. Aside from the burning stare, there was nothing. No movement, aside from the subtle one he was trying to make to imitate someone sleeping. No sounds, aside from the calm leveled breaths that came from both of them.

After uncountable minutes because he has eyes shut ( _not too tight like he was trying_ ) that felt like hours but could be minutes or even seconds, ( _who knows? Not him definitely_ ) he finally resolved to take a peek and opened his eyes, just a bit and looked from under his lashes.

* * *

Harry saw Tom shift to his back and he's not really a good of an actor ( _technically? He doesn't do it professionally or even at school. But he knows how to play a part because of the issue with their family business and stuff. Harry can hold his own too not as great as Tom, but he has an easier time improvising on the spot_ ) when he just woke up, emotions tended to flit easier on his face when he just woke up. He could see Tom deciding on how to act.

And he stopped snoring and Tom might deny the fact that he snores but he does, it was quiet, and dare he say it, cute but definitely there.

His dead-eyed stare didn't stray from his cousin when he came to the decision to open his eyes, there was dread lining his features. What for Harry wasn't entirely sure. But as his cousin opened his eyes in an agonizingly slow manner, Harry came to the decision to just let gravity take its course and crush his cousin.

* * *

"James?" The sleepy voice of his wife next to ear woke him up.

"M'yeah?" was his barely there answer as he shifted in bed, eyes still heavy and refusing to let go of the pillow he was hugging ( _he had a bad habit of stealing Lily's pillow but she always steals it back just before it's time to wake up_ ). And he couldn't be blamed, their bed was just so comfortable. There was not a lot James would splurge on, or Lily for that matter ( _she has the better eye for great deals and bargains when it comes to shopping_ ), but spending extra on their bed was something he insisted. And once Harry was born it was a good thing Lily caved, because it was their best friend those first months ( _Sirius is still kind of jealous of the bed, to be honest_ ).

"Did you hear something?" Lily was sitting up, squinting in the dark of their bedroom.

"You?"

At that, her worried expression melted into an annoyed one and he shot him a dirty look he didn't see as his back was to her and he pulled the pillow over his head.

"I think it was the boys," she insisted and shook him, even as he curled further to ignore her ( _bad move!_ ) and sleep, "I mean it, James, we need to go check on the boys!"

"Mrrmhm, they're fine Lils." He rubbed his cheek on his pillow, securing the one over his head with his free hand and almost tipped over to sleep.

" _James,_ " But Lily was insistent.

' _And'_ as his brow furrowed, eyes still closed for want of sleep, the beginning of dread flirting with the edge of his mind, _'is that annoyance I hear? It can't be.'_ Though he had to admit the rocking, while annoying at first was helping him go back to sleep. What with it being so rhythmic.

There was just something, in his sleep clouded brain ( _and sometimes even when he was wide awake_ ), that he forgot. When Lily speaks, listen. When she asks for something, do.

And he usually follows, he would follow.

But sleep is tantamount.

Which is why he didn't see Lily, who was now wide awake and if she could, she would have steam coming out of her ears in irritation.

"James, the boys could be in danger!" She tried to keep her voice down and all she got in reply was an incoherent mumble and a snore.

" _James Potter!_ " Lily called sternly, still trying to keep her voice low but wanting to wake her spouse, she was kneeling now on their bed, hands firmly planted on her hips, "There is a serial home invader on the _loose!_ One that has _killed_. We need to check on our boys."

"M'yeah, sure." He replied with a snore, the pillow that was over his head safely in his arms again as he shifted to his other side, facing Lily this time.

" _James."_ Nothing and her eyes narrowed.

"James." Still nothing, a vein throbbed somewhere on her temple.

"James!" More sharply and still nothing.

She, slowly, let out an exhale, relaxing before a determined expression stole across her beautiful features. Shifting on her knees a bit to get comfortable she gave a warning, "James, I _told_ you."

And she _shoved_.

* * *

Tom stopped where he was repeatedly pelting Harry with one of his numerous pillows when the piercing yowl invaded the air. From where Harry was sitting ( _on top of Tom again after his initial drop since the older boy did not take kindly to being squished and immediately whacked him with a pillow after promising with just a look to Harry_ ), he paused as well.

They shared a look and came to the conclusion that it was just James being shoved off the bed by Lily.

It would not be the first time that it has happened. As much as Harry's parents were _completely_ enamored with each other, there were times they still got on each other's nerves. Usually, they can talk it out like mature people but sometimes it's easier to just start shoving.

Of course, Tom, being the opportunist that he was, nailed Harry on the head again while he was lost to his thoughts. The force of the hit coupled with Harry's distracted state had Harry yelping as he toppled over to the floor, leaving the older boy smug as he peeked over the edge of his bed.

Harry, from his uncomfortable flop on the floor, glared at Tom, trying to intimidate the other. It didn't work and while Tom may not be childish enough to stick out his tongue at Harry like a child, he didn't need to because it was clear as day on his face. That he kept buffing his nails on his pajama top might have also helped.

That was when James and Lily, after donning on their robes, quietly burst into Tom's bedroom, James brandishing the paperweight shaped as a flashlight ( _it was gift from Sirius_ ) that was usually on their nightstand threateningly and Lily raised the toy lightsaber James actually uses as a flashlight when he needs to use the bathroom ( _though really he uses it for the bi-monthly lightsaber fight he has with Sirius_ ).

"Boys," Lily gasped out, rushing forward in relief and thoughtlessly threw the toy lightsaber over her shoulder, she heard James yelp behind her ( _he dove for the lightsaber, some tears of panic were shed_ ), "You're safe!"

She engulfed both boys in the tight hug ( _Harry had sat up shortly after they burst in, and used Tom's bed to help him steady and pulled himself on the bed_ ), she kept whispering words of thanks and over her shoulder both boys saw James falling back to sleep from where he cradled the toy lightsaber in his arms.

The two boys just shared a look over Lily's shoulders, sighed and in unison, patted her in comfort.

* * *

After the commotion that morning, which no one really talked about because a serial home invader or not, it was a common enough occurrence in the Potter residence that it was pointless to get embarrassed by it.

( _And honestly, they should know better than to think that their home would be easily, er, invaded by a home invader._ )

They did have a bit of a problem leaving Tom's room since James was in the way of the only sensible exit of Tom's rooms ( _the windows were always an option, of course, just one Lily does not approve of_ ). Lily had tried waking James up again, nudging him with her foot again and again but probably short of kicking him, it didn't work. The man was out cold.

Eventually, Harry got sick of waiting for his dad to wake up and elbowed Tom before he bent down and grabbed hold of one of James' leg. Tom got the idea and grabbed the other leg and dragged the older man away from the door.

Lily wasn't happy but didn't make any disapproving sounds, instead, she just turned and left with the promise of breakfast being ready in a few minutes.

They boys nodded and with one last look at Tom, Harry went back to his room to get ready for the day, and first dibs on the bathroom.

Left alone with his slumbering uncle, Tom gave one look at the man before getting in an internal debate on whether or not he should give up a pillow and a blanket for the man to use. All of the bedrooms in the Potter house were carpeted and his aunt was vigilant in making sure they were clean and safe lie on ( _a bit of a leftover habit from when Harry was just a baby that liked soft flooring and napping on it, especially ones that were situated in front of a window with sunlight filtering through it_ ), still it wasn't the best place to sleep on.

He was saved from sacrificing one of his pillows when his aunt popped back in and dropped a pillow and blanket over his uncle and left again with the reminder of breakfast in thirty minutes. He was thankful for the intervention ( _he'd rather not give up any of his pillows_ ).

Eventually, after Harry finally stopped hogging the shower ( _and after shooting a look at James for somehow getting the pillow under his head and the blanket covering his body_ ), Tom made his way downstairs for breakfast, hiding a yawn and more awake than he usually was in the morning.

His regular mornings require him having at least two cups of coffee to be coherent.

Ruffling Harry's hair as he passed by, he was ignored in favor of staring blankly at the table. He passed the table entirely and left his cousin slumping on the table and went ahead and helped Lily carry the plates of food to the dining room table.

Tom sat and began filling his plate like a normal person, it took Harry a minute or so before brightening up at the sight of food and do the same.

When Lily saw that James had yet to still appear, she let out an annoyed sigh but made no move to collect her husband upstairs, and instead chose to enjoy breakfast.

* * *

Halfway through breakfast Harry felt sociable enough to be chatty and dragged Tom into some inane conversation, Lily only interjecting here and there. No one mentioned that they were eating a bit earlier than usual. ( _Or that James was merrily sleeping on the floor._ )

Then, Tom's cell rang completely ruining the rather cozy family atmosphere. Wiping his mouth with a tissue as he fished the phone out of his pocket, completely annoyed, mind. He immediately, if with great annoyance and reluctance, answered the call after checking the caller ID.

Of course, he sounds completely charming by the first word.

* * *

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved a forkful of eggs in his mouth when he saw Tom gearing up to do 'The Perfect Pretty-Boy Act That Has the School Worship Him' as his godfather would say or 'Tom Fooling The World' as his dad would counter ( _and he's honestly more partial to that one because it's shorter and truer_ ). He turns to his mom so he can have some decent conversation. And also give Tom a reason to excuse himself completely from the table because as per his mom's rule, no talking on the phone in front of the food.

He's telling his mom about his plans with his friends that weekend, he was interrupted by the sound of Tom cursing up of a storm.

Of course, he shares a look with his mom, Tom's the type of person that wouldn't cry or curse when he stubs his toe in the dark at night. Such things are trivial for him.

Tom's annoyed form stalked back into the dining room and sat heavily on his chair.

For Tom to be cursing up and down is, well, in all honesty, it wasn't all that concerning since he does it often enough, though maybe just not where the object of his ire could readily hear it. That he's cursing at the person at the other end of the phone, on the other hand, does get them to raise their eyebrows a bit because the only other time Tom curses explicitly at someone is if they've messed things up. Tom hasn't even bothered to cover his phone while he's busy calling the person at the other end the vilest things.

And for him to also do so in front of the food means he's seriously pissed at the person, and mostly likely the situation at large.

With a final snap at the person, he ended the call and traded the cell for another cup of coffee and muttered into the mug. Far too fast and low for either Potter to understand.

"So _ooo_ ," Harry didn't care if it was obvious that he was fishing, with the flattest look and driest tone he could muster, he asked, "what was that all about?"

His mom was curious as well but opted to just take a sip of her glass of orange juice from her side of the table ( _she'll think of an appropriate punishment for Tom for cursing up a storm in front of her later_ ). Tom was thankfully indulgent, or better too irritated to go with the pretense that he was perfectly fine with everything in the world.

"It was _Malfoy._ " Harry almost raised his eyebrows at that and smiled that was almost all teeth. ' _Oooh, distaste and disappointment.'_

 _Abraxas Malfoy was Tom's oldest friend. And Harry knows him personally as well because of that connection. And he knows, as certain that the sun won't explode yet for a number of centuries to come, that Abraxas was efficient and almost as meticulous as Tom. And Tom may deny it but he's fond of Abraxas, so on the off chance that the blond does make a mistake, a big one even, Tom would never curse at him. The most he'd probably get is a disappointed look and some stern words._

Now, _Draco_ Malfoy on the other hand… Well, he was not Tom's least favorite person. But he's most certainly not his favorite. The boy was too nervous around his cousin, hence mistakes and additional work for Tom. He flounders whenever Tom's in the vicinity and has probably gotten on Tom's nerves enough that the camel's back finally broke and the curses came pouring out.

"What did he do?" Harry asked, still teeth bared.

" _Delayed."_ Harry sent him a look, one that was just colored with disbelief and the slightest bit of exasperation. "He's—" Tom sighed, slowly dragging the out of his lung, took a deep breath and put down his cup, the coffee sloshing and spilling some drops on the table.

"He made a mistake regarding the time." Tom stabbed the eggs his mom made before elegantly raising it to his mouth like he wasn't transferring all his murderous energy into it earlier.

" _Oh?_ " He did not like the sound of that. And something must have shown on his face because Tom sighed again.

" _Yes,"_ Was that a hiss? Eh, who was Harry kidding? That was definitely a hiss. "The event does not start until _eleven._ "

A beat of silence. Lily has left the table and made her way to the kitchen

"In the _morning?_ " Harry asked, mirroring his cousin, expression darkening just a bit.

" _Yes."_

" _That means—"_

"I know."

"It was supposed to be at eight—"

"I know."

"That means extra—"

"I know."

"Sleep—"

" _Yes."_

 _Harry pursed his lips, bowing his head and looked back down on his plate, for gripped tightly in hand. Slowly Harry raised his head and met Tom's gaze, "I'm going to kill him."_

"Get in line and wait a couple of years," Tom pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair, "We need to plan everything perfectly so we won't be suspects."

Tom could be joking, it was hard to tell with him, but he nodded along nonetheless.

"Boys," his mom called from the kitchen, he could hear her loading up the dishwasher, "no plotting murder on the table."

"Fine." They chorused together but sharing a dry look that promised things.

Then, after a moment, she added almost as an afterthought, "In fact, no plotting of any kind whatsover, okay?"

* * *

It was hours later after his mom finally kicked his father out of Tom's room and after the two of them roped his dad into a bit of scheming while he nursed his bruised ego and ate breakfast that Tom finally left the house to help prepare for the exhibit. He had volunteered. Or rather he was volunteered by one of their more enthusiastic teachers, he kind of made Harry uncomfortable because he was so pushy.

Tom dragged Harry with him, it was— Well, the reason he had Harry wake him up early was he needed to be there an hour early to make sure everything was perfect and that go over the programme as a precaution. Unfortunately, things happened. Before the clock struck eight-thirty he convinced Harry to accompany him, it was only a museum and Harry did so like history.

"—you don't even need to help usher anyone. Unless, of course, something's happened and either Abraxas or I ask for your help. Besides you're free to mingle and explore on your own provided you only stick to the places the museum has allowed us." Tom wasn't pushing Harry, not really. But he did have his hands on his shoulder to guide him as they head out.

"I get it Tom," Harry rolled his eyes, hands cradling the backpack shoved into his hands and making sure he didn't stumble with Tom's insistent pushing, "you're acting like I didn't have a hand planning this?"

"Ah, of course, you did."

* * *

Thankfully, it was over by three that afternoon. Unfortunately, it was a rather formal event and while it didn't call for a tux, Tom insisted that he wear a tie and viciously attacked his hair with gel and comb so it would some resemblance of order ( _he was very successful but it hurt Harry a lot_ ). But let it be known that his hair was more stubborn than he could over hope to be and halfway through the boring mix and mingle it was, as Abraxas praised when he saw Harry again, 'a tasteful mess.'

Harry really wants to go home, hence, he was hiding behind the nearly empty buffet table. He pulled out his phone, debated on whether or not he should drag his friends into this before sighing and just opening one of the games Luna insisted he should have. It was a great way to pass the time.

"Ahem."

His phone slipped and he had a brief game catch with it before he caught it and glared at his cousin. He got a raised brow and an unimpressed look in answer. He may have pouted, there were no witnesses, aside from Abraxas but he tends to ignore any and all antics the two cousins get into.

"If you're done," Tom said as he subtly surveyed the rest of the guests still lingering around, "We're leaving. Now. Before Slughorn catches us all."

"Yes!" Harry whispered-shouted but also shivered when Slughorn was mentioned and Abraxas laughed at the cousins. Harry pouted and Tom sent him a look that was ignored.

Tom smiled, all sly with an eyebrow quirked with the slightest challenge, "Abraxas was kind enough to treat us to some dinner."

Abraxas swiveled his eyes to Tom but said nothing, face completely neutral. "Of course. Anything for my _favorite_ friends."

"Free food." Harry didn't care if there was any sarcasm involved, he just wanted out now, people have already started trickling out and he assumes that Tom left someone else to deal with things, "Nice."

He pushed the other two to get them moving and didn't let up even when they did move. They snuck off and used the parking lot exit where they waited for a couple of minutes for their ride to come pick them up ( _because, of course, the blond messaged his family driver to pick them up and drive them to wherever the blond had in mind. Just because Tom may have insisted that he graciously treat them to dinner doesn't mean that he wouldn't follow through_ ).

Tom kept jabbing him in the back every time Harry was slouching. Harry kept straightening and shooting him a glare while subtly moving away from the pointy fingers.

The car finally rolled by, it was fancy, expensive but still sleek and subtle, nothing out of the usual when Abraxas was involved. They got in, Abraxas took shotgun of course.

* * *

The place Abraxas picked was pretty upscale, again nothing unusual with Abraxas around. It would also take a thirty-minute drive to get there, approximately. It was fine since it would give the restaurant enough time to prepare a table for them, Malfoy connections or not, the place usually did have a thirty minute to an hour waiting time.

The radio was playing some classical piece Harry couldn't name, but it was familiar.

They got some seats by the windows and saw the people passing by. Harry let the two decide to order, otherwise, they'd just keep shooting down his choices on principle.

It was only after being bored out of his skull to even think anymore that he noticed that they weren't moving, having been staring blankly at the same street for a while now. Looking over to his cousin, Tom was preoccupied with something on his phone but was still taking the time to argue over what they'll be eating with Abraxas.

He shifted, but not really wanting to move from where he was basically plastered on his side of the car, he nudged Tom's leg with his foot. Tom shot him a look but he motioned to the window. It took a short moment for Tom to get it.

"Abraxas." Tom said as he checked his watch.

"Hmm?" The blond was preoccupied with his phone, fingers rapidly typing away as his eyes stayed glued on the screen.

"We aren't moving." That had the blond freezing and looked up to see the long line of cars.

"So we aren't," A blond brow crinkled, and a frown made itself known, "I can't recall any protest or parade scheduled today. We could walk the rest of the way there, of course, it's only a block away."

"Maybe there was an accident and they had to you know," Harry said as he opened the door and got out, one hand gesturing to the lines of cars.

"Always the ray of sunshine," Tom dryly said as he closed the car door, Harry moved to his side, punched his cousin's arm before staying put at his side. Abraxas was still in the car, talking to their driver.

When he did come out it was with grace, again, nothing out of the usual with Abraxas.

"Come along, if we hurry we don't need to wait for another half hour for a table." They let Abraxas lead, the cousins falling back a bit so they can talk in relative privacy.

"Why can't we go someplace that isn't fancy?" Harry crossed his arms.

"It isn't that fancy."

"Uh-huh."

At the disbelieving look sent to him, Tom smiled, "It's no casual diner but I can assure you this is nothing like Malfoy New Year's soiree."

Harry made a face but didn't comment.

* * *

The place wasn't bad as he thought.

Despite his initial thoughts and Tom's words, Abraxas picked a restaurant that was sought after but it wasn't extreme fine dining. Thankfully.

Though some of the servers kept eyeing him for some reason. The hostess did the same when she greeted them as well. Of course, Abraxas took care of the talking and had the complete attention of the hostess in a handful of seconds. Behind them, he shared a look with Tom again, they were both confused and a little wary.

They were given a table that had a great view of the rest the room, they could even see the entrance. It was how Harry while waiting for their food to get there while the other two talked about this and that, he was able to spot the Flamels.

A kick to Tom's shin had his cousin glaring at him again. _"What?"_ he hissed.

"The Flamels," was all he said and just as their server came back and brought their food with him.

Tom's been meaning to talk to them, or at least Mr. Flamel.

"So it is," was what Tom said when he eventually turned to look towards the entrance, there was a short line, "ah, looks like they're headed to the private more private tables. Pity."

Harry blinked, "They have those?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Tom shot back as he speared his salad. Abraxas sighed from his side of the table, he had hoped that Harry would be too uninterested to engage Tom. The best he can do is steel himself, they tend to get into weird arguments and sooner or later other guests will start shooting them looks, they don't get violent about it ( _not unlike Harry's Weasley friends_ ) so it's unlikely that they'll be kicked out but it will most definitely be a long night for the blond.

* * *

"Hurry up Nicholas." Perenelle snapped after she shut the cab door.

"Pen. Wait! Here, keep the change," He quickly shoved the bills on the cab driver's hand and hurried to his wife's side, making sure to take her hand in his. Inwardly, he sighed. The missus was mad, but it was hardly anyone's fault that the traffic became so heavy that the cab they were riding, like everyone else that was driving or was taking a cab, was stuck. A lot of people were doing the same, opening their doors and walking off.

"We do not want to be late for this Nicholas." She said still keeping her stride, head held high and hair done up as she always does on the off chance she needs to deck someone. They were almost there at the restaurant. She whispered, almost sounding worried, "We don't know what we're tempting by being late."

"I know dear," Nicholas sighed, well aware how on edge his wife has been the past few days. Especially since they keep spotting crows every time they were out and about, they've been seeing them everywhere. There in one moment, gone the next.

"But please," he quietly begged as he raised their joined hands to kiss hers and let his lips linger there long enough to whisper, "you need to relax, dear."

She nodded, "We're here."

There was a short wait but after mentioning that they had a reservation under the name Peverell ( _and that had both of them wary, they were rumored to be one of Death's favorites, why they died so young in comparison to others, that Death was always eager for anyone with Peverell blood to be in its embrace. The use of the name Peverell can mean many things in their case. A warning or a hint?_ ), they were led to their private table.

Perenelle waved off the woman before she could usher them through the door, wanting to open it herself. After the hostess asked again if they were sure, she left the couple with the promise of coming back with the menus and some drinks.

As soon as the couple was left alone in the hallway to the private rooms, Perenelle took a steadying breath and looking at Nicholas, who gave her an encouraging look as he squeezed her hand on more time and as one they faced the door.

Perenelle slowly reached for the doorknob, turned it and pushed the door open.


	4. Ah! The things about Fate

**AN:** A little late since I'm trying to update around the 20-25th of every month. Also Death's introduction, it gets confusing, especially in essence there are two Deaths and Harrys being referred in the story but the other Death should not appear but it depends.

 **AN:** Also no update 'It's a Relative Thing' just yet. I need to finish Chapter 7 before I can get started on Chapter 6, so it might take a while. IaRT's plot is less concrete than 'A Reprieve of Sorts.' But I think it ARoS is easier to write because the plot is definitely less confusing, as a result easier to write even with the more detailed notes I have for IaRT.

 **AN:** I've added a second chapter for 'Not Yet' though and I'm in the works of writing another Fantastic Beast's fic. I'm trying to make that into just one long one-shot.

 **AN:** And lastly, I honestly don't know when I'll be able to **update ** again. I recently got a job so I'll be a busy bee and will mostly likely be too drained to write anything on most days. As it is since the past few days were so hectic I'm not able to properly go through everything. So any mistakes are mine and feel free to tell me any of the errors, like me not spotting an incomplete sentence/thought.

But that doesn't mean I'll stop writing. I might just update everything every other month? We'll all see. So, I hope you all enjoy reading!

* * *

The sun set and the world slowly began its decent to slumber. Or at least it did on this side of the world. He couldn't sleep. Or, well, rather he didn't. Not really there were a lot of things in his mind. And the hotel, a rather fancy one at that with a grand view of the city's skyline ( _because of course, Death had his ways to afford it_ ) but there are no stars at night.

 _'Good.'_ He thinks. His relationship with the stars are still a touchy thing.

Or maybe it had more to do with the vast expanse of—of, well space was the best way to describe it, since it was another plane altogether—space that he was stuck on with Fate as he watched his, well, home world end.

Either way.

There's a lot he needs to think about. A lot he needs to sort through.

"If you keep frowning," a voice broke through his brooding. It was Death, tall and stately as ever, moving with a silent, preternatural grace. "your face will end up permanently stuck with that expression. Then your mother will be upset. She will blame me, if that happens."

In Death's hands was a bag of take out, holding it out like he was handing off some sort of award to Harry. He smiled, the slightest of lips curling upwards, then snorted, all the while refusing to budge from where he was watching the darkening skyline, "Mum likes blaming you because she loves seeing you squirm."

Death sighed and carefully dropped the bag on the coffee table. He made his way to Harry, looking him up and down, frowning before reaching out to cup Harry's cheek. "I told you to get some sleep. Yet I come back to you looking… scornful and lost, I suppose is the best way to describe it."

"I am rested," he wanted to bat away the hand but let it be and in turn covered it with his own.

"Stubborn." Death says.

"I wonder where I got it from," Harry says dryly.

Missing his sarcasm, Death replied, "I wonder as well. Eat. It has been some time since you have eaten." He stepped back so he wasn't crowding Harry anymore. He stepped back as a silent request that Harry move to the couch and eat. Harry made a face but complied.

He dropped down on the couch, took his time reaching for the bag. Death had to walk closer to push the bag closer to Harry and sit on the chair.

Harry blinked when he peered into the bag.

"My favorite…" He said in wonder, "I—How did you know?"

Death watched him intently, curled comfortably on the chair, "You mother loves talking about you and I do so love to listen."

"Ew." He said but didn't elaborate anymore. He also didn't touch the food, choosing to just toy with it using the plastic spork that came with it. Under the disapproving stare of Death, he soon caved and took a couple of bites of the food, making a show chewing and swallowing the food before pushing it away gently. Death pressed his lips into thin line but said nothing. Just sighed in disappointment.

"Child," Harry snorted but didn't move to correct the other ( _since it wasn't like he was wrong. There weren't enough, ah, Beings that were currently older than him, of course. Especially ones he was close to_ ), "how long must you strain your body so? Sleep. Eat. Recuperate."

"In truth, Father," He says, averting his eyes to the ceiling, pretending not to notice how the other melted a bit by the title, "I have no real need for it. Nor do I wish to waste more time with such frivolities."

"Lies," Death immediately rebuffed. The otherwise tranquil literal embodiment of death looked quite upset. Not exactly livid since the other didn't seem to be capable of displaying such emotions. Feeling it? Yes. Displaying it? At best it might come out as slightly pissed. "You are merely… ah, I mourning is one way to put what you are experiencing."

"Perhaps," Harry answers after a moment, not really in the mood to talk. He wasn't in the mood for much.

Death sighed again, reclining further on the chair, eyes also now straying to the ceiling, "Very well. I will not press you any further." Harry sighed in relief.

"For now." Death said sternly looking at him. Harry sighed again, this time in acceptance.

"And," Death continued with a great amount of reluctance imbibed in his tone, "as much as I wish to stay and care for you…" Death trailed off and this time the being sighed, "It does not bode well for any that I shirk my duties for too long."

Harry looked at his hands, clenching and un-clenching his fingers. It hurts to be alone, but it was… "Understandable."

"I do not wish to leave," Death repeated.

"But you must," Harry countered.

Neither of them wanted to be the one to break eye contact, so for the longest moment it was quiet.

"Yes." It was while they were caught in one another's gaze when Death spoke again, shattering the stillness they were in. "I must. But that does not mean I want you to be by your lonesome."

Harry snorted, crossing his arms; but still Death persisted, voice rumbling as he reprimanded Harry, "It is not because I know your mother will be upset with me and that I do not want to upset your mother. I would be upset at myself for considering that I should leave you on your own. That is why," Death sighed heavily, "I have made some arrangements."

Harry raised an eyebrow, arms still hugging his sides, not liking the sound of it one bit.

"What kind of arrangements?" He asks with the slightest hint of trepidation.

"Ah," Death says, looking near sheepish, twiddling his thumbs, "I still need to settle some things, but it is so you would not be alone."

Harry took a deep breath and sighed long and deep, eyes rolling heavenward asking for some patience.

"Father," Harry ignored the way the other melted again, he needed to get his opinion voiced, "I'm touched, I really am, but you cannot just plan things halfway and expect me to be fine with it. Not that I'm encouraging you, but even Mother makes sure everything is in order before approaching me so I have a harder time saying no." Not that he'd ever refuse that Death anything, or this one either since he looked like a kicked puppy, it hurt.

After letting that sink in for a bit and sighing he made his move, "I really appreciate what you're trying to do Father. Especially since I know you really only have my best interest at heart, but whatever it is, I want to be part of it." He paused, before leaning forward and took Death's hand in his own, eyes pleading, "I'm the one that will be affected the most by this, so please. Allow me to have a a part in this."

He hates not having a say. And as long as he can get away with it he wants to do things as he pleases when pleases. And Death. Death cannot refuse him either.

"Very well," Death says, eyes firmly on their joined hands, he squeezes them in comfort before raising his head to face Harry, "but only if you promise to go through with it."

It was another stalemate before Harry reluctantly nodded. Death let go of Harry when he tugged at his hands.

"Of course," Harry said standing, "I think. I think I will rest. I feel drained."

"Of course." Death tilted his head, "Do you wish for me to stay or shall I be taking my leave?"

Harry was quiet while he looked for something to change into. Eventually he replied once he had a bundle of clothes.

"I admit," He says with his back to Death, "I'd rather not be alone."

"Then I shall stay." Death says, getting up to put away Harry's leftovers.

* * *

The shower was rather powerful, its spray almost stinging as it impacted his skin. And that wasn't even factoring in the fact that Harry had set it to hot instead of just warm. But Harry was in no hurry to get out of the spray. Choosing instead to rest his forehead against the tile as the water hit his back.

Melancholy and regret danced on his shoulders, trying to make him cave from the pressure. But he won't fold. He's used to losing. Loses.

Though, he admits as he finally made a move to wash himself, unconsciously lowering the temperature, that this instance wasn't fair. He does not get his peace. He was not allowed the privacy to lament about it.

 _'All because,'_ he thinks hatefully, scrubbing his hair rougher than he intended, his scalp aching at the unintentional hair pulling he's done, _'of one itsy-bitsy nasty little Fate.'_

That Fate was never kind. It was a proud and arrogant creature, thinking it knows best. That little Fate, who thought it could force him to just sit through like a pathetic weakling as his entire world, the one place where he started creating his legacies, died.

All things must die.

It is something he's learned to accept. It was one of the first things he's accepted. But he needed time to accept it. No matter how old he was, he still needed the time. And if that Fate thought he would just allow his person be a puppet for its amusement.

Well, he smirked, eyes closing in pleasure as he tilted his head up and just basked under the spray, letting the suds slide off his body.

It certainly got a rude awakening.

That Fate was no more.

But.

Let it not be said he hates fate. Just that particular one. Or rather the ones that was its ilk. Those were the worst kind of Fate after all. The ones that were young and so full of themselves, that they do not understand their purpose, choosing to satisfy their finicky whims.

However.

Fate _ **s**_ , on the other hand, he tolerates and can respect. After all, the Fates were gracious enough to allow him to observe and learn Their Craft. While he will never achieve Their levels of Mastery, he knows a thing or two on how to pull at destiny's strings, not that he would ever want to know more than what They've given him or abuse it even. As he said he respects Them.

 _The Moirai._

The Crone, The Mother and The Wench.

Though, usually the youngest is called The Maiden but given the attitudes of most of the newly inducted Fate, Wench seemed like a more appropriate title to those arrogant creatures. There were times when he feels for The Crones and The Mothers, as They had to deal with The Wenches. But all he can do is shrug. They are the ones there to beat lessons and protocol through The Wench's skull. And for that he respects Them more.

The Fates are fair because They are balanced.

He can safely say that They more or less have an accord.

* * *

Harry was dressed in a pair of loose sweats and a black wife-beater when he exited the steaming bathroom. Toweling his hair dry, he made his way to the bed, where Death was watching the news.

Harry banished the towel back to the bathroom and dropped to the free side of the bed. He curled up om his side with his back against Death and the older being helped him get comfortable.

"You really should be going to sleep now," Death said, running a hand through his hair.

"Must I?" Harry rolled on to his stomach, pouting, "It is still early."

Death patted his arm in comfort, "Now, you said that you would sleep."

"No" He petulantly replied. "I said I would rest and I am sure this can count as resting."

"Be as that may," Death said sounding amused but looking so serene, "Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Oh?" Harry raised a brow daringly.

"Indeed," The corner of Death's mouth twitched, "As you have said that you wish to be part of whatever it is I am, ah, planning and I have conceded that it would only be fair to include you. Then it is prudent that you will be well rested for tomorrow. I had planned to meet with a Mister Flamel, I should think that you are familiar with the man?"

"I… Yes," Harry pushed himself up the bed, twisting so that he could properly face Death. "I know of him. He and his wife passed away sometime between my twelfth and thirteenth summers, did they not?"

"Did they?" Death said mildly, reaching out so he could attempt to smooth down Harry's hair ( _no luck whatsoever_ ).

"Father." Harry said, irritation and resignation meeting in his tone, Death was teasing!

"Sleep," Death implored, gently pushing Harry down with one hand, "Regardless of who we are meeting, you will need your rest. We shall meet Mister Flamel for dinner and I have no doubts that it will be a long night tomorrow."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know. Your mother knows. But it helps us sleep at night to know that there will be someone to watch over you at the very least. Your mother and I adore you so and we only want you happy and whole." Death says as he tucks Harry in.

"Neither of you really needs to sleep," was Harry's weak reply.

"Of course, of course." Death agreed, lying down on the bed as well, only he was on top of the covers. "I shall try to be here when you wake."

"Please don't imitate the modern vampire while I sleep." Harry closed his eyes, Death's laughter sounding like t

* * *

He woke up alone in bed.

Harry tilted his head to the side, oddly thankful that Death followed his request. He sat up and stretched. The curtains weren't covering the windows, but it wasn't that big of a deal since he slept facing away from the window.

A glance at the electronic clock on the nightstand showed that it was approximately twenty minutes before eight. Not really too early and not late, in his opinion.

He didn't want to get up just yet, so he summoned the remote and turned on the TV. Flicking through the channels disinterestedly, trying to find something to watch.

It was how Death found him, after he reappeared in the room, watching the latest episode of some Telenovela. Harry had a certain fondness for them.

Times and trends may pass but they will always be needlessly convoluted for entertainment. The Spanish ones will always have a special place in his heart, but he wasn't all too picky with what he watches.

 _'Well,'_ he thought frowning throwing the remote lightly before catching it, _'Unless it's the same pair of actors that were starring in a new show.'_

He gets disappointed with those kinds of dramas. Sure, they're attractive. Sure, they know how to act ( _mostly_ ). But, and may be it was just him, he gets sick of seeing the same casts together over and over again. He likes variety.

It wasn't all too hard to understand most of the show's plot, even with going by with the one episode he's watching.

"Harry?" Death called him.

"Hmmm?" He hummed in reply, eyes strictly glued to the way the villainess on the screen explained her latest plot to kill the goody-goody girl dead with exaggerated hand gestures to her lackey-friend.

"Good afternoon," Death sighed, crossing his arms, "Have you eaten anything?"

Harry answered curtly, choosing to keep most of his attention on the TV, "No."

Death sighed and stepped in between Harry's line of sight and the TV. Harry scowled but all that Death said was, "Do not make me break the television. It is time for you to eat."

"Fine," Harry sighed annoyed, getting up and making his way to the small kitchen the room came with.

Death just nodded, pleased that Harry was listening, with a flick of his hand the TV was off, "It would do well that you are feeling well when we meet with the Flamels later."

"So you keep saying. Where are we meeting them?" Harry asked as he searched the cupboards for a menu.

"I have made reservations in a certain restaurant. It is rather upscale but not extremely so. Still it would be best for us to dress up."

"Oh joy," Harry said just as he found the menu and flipped to an appropriate page. This Death was a rather… vain anthropomorphic personification of Death. He takes care to dress himself. Harry tries not to think of what he'll wear, Death has it covered knowing him.

* * *

After eating, Death did his best to herd an unwilling Harry around so he could actually get ready, when all was said and done and Harry looked like a presentable young man Death nodded, proud at how well he had cleaned up. With only two hours left before their meeting, Death was ready with a snap of fingers.

After a final ( _failed_ ) attempt to comb Harry's hair into submission, they left the hotel. Like normal people.

* * *

Harry wouldn't call it a catharsis, but it was something. The way they, Death and he, have decided to do things. Death especially.

It was… humbling in its own way. To be able to walk amongst the living. Sometimes, its also the only that provides normalcy and stability. Death knows that the other Higher Beings can sometimes be comparably juvenile compared to the young race.

So with slow, but never reluctant, steps, they made their way through the crowds.

"Wouldn't it be easier if we take a car or something," Harry asked after getting fed up with all the curious and admiring stares they were getting and threw a combination of a notice-me-not and muggle repelling charms over his shoulder.

Death chuckled, not at all minding the curious stares as much, "We could but I am afraid that there will a situation up ahead that will require a delicate touch. And as such, it will cause a delay for any and all vehicles in the surrounding area. Unfortunately for us, the street the restaurant is in is also affected." He finished with an airy smile and careless shrug.

"Ah, of course," Harry rolled his eyes, "Forgive me for being remiss with my duties."

"There is nothing to forgive," Death firmly said.

Harry smiled, something slow small and maybe grateful but said nothing more.

* * *

As Death said, something came up and there was a lot of people milling the streets, all looking annoyed and harried, because the traffic wasn't moving. Harry's spells were still up, as such muggles would unconsciously give them a wide berth. Though at Death's silent prompting, he did cancel out the spell once they were nearing the restaurant building.

There was a bit of a line but nothing too long.

"Please tell me you made reservations," Harry muttered, looking at the line.

Death chuckled and patted his arm, "Of course I made them."

Harry sighed and muttered something under his breath in relief. Of course Death still had to butt in with a smile, "I put it under Peverell."

"What!" Harry hissed, surprised but mindful of the people around them. "Why use that name?"

"I have mentioned that we will be meeting the Flamels?" Death began just as they got in line. "I needed a way to capture their attention, and using the name guaranteed it."

"I can hardly see why using that name will catch their attention." Harry insisted.

"Ah," Death said, eyes closed in thought, "Would it really be a surprise to find out that these people came from the same reality that you grew in? That they would possess the knowledge to travel through dimensions or created it themselves if such knowledge didn't exist?"

"I—" Harry blinked, shaking his head and looking at the other, "A little, I admit. I was told that with the loss of their stone, they decided it was time to move on. I have not really given them thought since then actually. They're not dead?"

"They are not, they have only moved on as they have promised." Death said, moving forward to talk to the hostess and mentioned their reservation. Stepping back closer again to Harry, he finished, "And it was commonly known that Death was always eager to welcome anyone with Peverell blood staining through their veins into Its embrace and as a result, those of Peverell blood tend to die younger. _They_ may be apprehensive."

The hostess smiled at them after confirming their reservation sand they were lead away to the more private rooms. While walking, Harry took in the restaurant.

The Lavender Nights looked beautiful. Even if it did have a bit of an odd name. Very odd. Especially considering that there were no hints of lavender motifs or the actual flowers in the restaurant.

If anything it should be called something like Autumn Nights because it was decked in the colors red, orange and yellows, it was all tastefully decorated, of course. Though admittedly, the colors reminded him of the Gryffindor common room, albeit, with the style a little too, ah, formal than what most Gryffs would prefer.

 _'At least,'_ he conceded, _'it would be for Gryffindors that were still in school or had only recently graduated from Hogwarts.'_

Harry was busy taking it all in as a familiar flash of blond hair caught his eyes.

 _'Is that…?'_ Just as he was turning his head to that direction, the divider got in the way, he shrugged, no real loss.

Their guide left them with the promise that their waiter for the night will be by shortly with their menus. They both nodded and she left.

"Ready?" Death asks.

"Never." Harry says and opens the door.

* * *

 **AN:** Actually before I leave, I just want to say something about a review a received for IaRT, it was a very valid criticism, I suppose, but I've long since made peace that not everyone will like what I write and some may even 'vocalize' it. I get that IaRT may be too wordy and dry even, my own fault really but it was the way I felt the story should be written. That story's pace will be slow and seem like it's distracting and avoiding anything happening because—well, I did say I was trying a third-person limited POV that had slightly a stream of consciousness flow. I'm trying to make the drag be less apparent but honestly, that story has a different style/format and premise compared to others I've written, as a result, the style of it's written and told is affected. 'Til next time!


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